


I play for keeps 'cause I might not make it back

by wajjs



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: 80's AU, Alternate Universe - No Powers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Requited Love, Rocky AU, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:01:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: Tim doesn't say anything. He's not sweeping either. He just stands there, looking at his shoes, chancing glances from under his eyelashes at Jason. And Jason, well, he's so endeared. It's why he keeps coming back. It's why he takes the long way back home every night.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 12
Kudos: 105





	I play for keeps 'cause I might not make it back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TaneKore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaneKore/gifts).



> honestly i can't believe it has taken me this long to finally cave in and write a rocky balboa au considering rocky ii is my favorite movie EVER, but nevermind, i am correcting my mistake now. thank you tk for enabling me!!!!!
> 
> this is also sort of a retelling of how rocky 1 starts, i got these movies memorized, istg, they are so good
> 
> (also: the title comes from a bon jovi song, "wanted dead or alive")

**I play for keeps 'cause I might not make it back**

Oh but he doesn't cut a pretty picture. Standing with his back to the dirty sunset, with his old fingerless gloves keeping his hands warm, one curled over the end of his cigarette as he lits it. His hair is sweaty under his hat, a beat up fedora, one that looks like it has lived five too many lives. The skin of his knuckles isn't exposed but they are bruised from punching the poor bastard now laying at his feet. 

He doesn't really like it. It doesn't sit well with his stomach, but a job's a job and he's gotta eat. Pay rent. Buy food for his pets. Those good turtles, he loves them so much. His pride and joy, that they are.

One puff of his cigarette and the sleek black limo stops by the corner of the empty street. That doesn't mean the whole world isn't watching. Judging, some, pitying, others. He doesn't need no damned pity. The judgement, that he does deserve.

He doesn't move from where he's standing. He usually would, truly, but he's tired. Not from the fight, there was none. He's tired and it comes from the soul. That's heavier stuff. So he stays put as the driver walks round the car to open a door, to let another man in much finer clothes come out. He takes another drag that fills his insides with smoke. It keeps him warm. Gives him something to do.

"You're always so efficient," Roman Sionis smiles with a leer and it's kind of an ugly sight but he can't say that. He needs to get paid. "Well done, my boy."

He doesn't take the cigarette out of his mouth to speak. "Easy to knock someone out when they are all skin and bones."

The driver hands him a rolled up wad of cash, something he quickly grabs and shoves deep in the pocket of his jacket. He almost manages not to snarl.

But Roman just laughs at him and steps closer, pats with a gloved hand his cheek.

"Tomorrow you're going to give the butcher a little visit. You know how much we have debtors here."

"Whatever ya say," he shrugs, tells himself it'd be bad if he pulled away, "you're the boss."

"And you're certainly not the brains," the driver's mean voice cuts through and before anyone knows it, he's got the bastard doubled in half, arms around his stomach, gasping for air.

He knows he has a mean punch.

"Least I'm not a fucking wimp," he scoffs, stepping backwards when Roman throws him a sharp glare. He bites his tongue, regains hold of himself inside. "Sorry bout that, boss. Your _boy_ here needs to learn how to behave himself."

"My _driver,_ " Roman's tone is cutting, "and you as well, _kid._ "

He smiles. "Ya didn't hire me for my good behavior," he turns his head to the side to let out the smoke after taking another drag, tries to be nice. "Would be bad for business if I acted all nice."

Roman stops for the shortest of seconds, relaxes in the next. He's also more or less shoving his driver back to the car, gives him one long once over.

"Remind me to pay you better, boy. You'd look so nice in better clothes."

When the car leaves, he stays in the same spot for a while. Finishes his cigarette, watches the street come back to life. It's a slow thing. Once he's down to the filter, he puts the thing out in the sole of his shoe, keeps the end in his pocket. He might be a thug. He might be bad news. But he's no stupid litterer.

Before he abandons the scene altogether, he lifts the poor guy he's knocked unconscious off the pavement, leaves him propped up on the entrance of a random house. He feels sorry for the bastard. Only the desperate ask for Roman's help. He should know. He was _that_ desperate, once.

By the time he makes it to the shop, it's already dark out and the cold is all the stronger. It doesn't stop him. He can barely feel it. There's a song heavy on the drums playing in his chest and a spring in his step as he approaches the door, so happy to see the lights are still on.

The bell chimes as he pushes the door open, he's smiling with his eyes and he's _just._

"Ah," the young man sweeping behind the counter turns around and they see each other. The pale face turns red with a blush.

_So._

"Tim!" his voice fills up the room, makes the birds in their cages stir, puff out their feathers, some chirp.

Tim just gapes at him a little, tightens his grip on the broom.

_In._

"Jason," he says, barely above a whisper, quickly turns his face downwards, to the floor.

_Love._

"Cheer up, buttercup," Jason laughs, steps fully into the shop and starts looking around, tapping away at the fishes in their tanks, "or maybe tomato, since you get all red like one."

Tim doesn't say anything. He's not sweeping either. He just stands there, looking at his shoes, chancing glances from under his eyelashes at Jason. And Jason, well, he's so endeared. It's why he keeps coming back. It's why he takes the long way back home every night.

Because Tim has an honest job and no one is scared of him. Because Tim is good at his job and he can say that with pride and honor, because he doesn't punch poor indebted people to make a living. Because Tim is clean and gorgeous. And because Jason is a little bit of a selfish man, dreams of having Tim by his side.

"I read a little story the other day," he continues talking, doesn't mind that he's eating up all the silence, just wants to talk because if he continues then maybe he'll say something that will make Tim look at him eye to eye, smile on his pretty face, "bout a tomato! Wanna know what it said?"

Tim doesn't move. Well, he bites his lip. Lifts his head a little to indicate he's listening.

"A tomato didn't want to be a salad," Jason walks back to the counter, leans on it and casually grabs a small box of food for the turtles before he takes out his wallet to pay for it, "so he thought, huh, what an ugly thing, a salad," Tim rings his order up almost with automatic motions, gasps when their fingers brush, "said nah man, I don't wanna be no salad, and you know what he did?"

Jason waits a little, till the other's looking at him from under his lashes again. He adores it.

"He, and it's so funny, because, he's like, a _tomato,_ he's _made_ to be in a salad!" he laughs, shoves his wallet and the box with food back inside his pocket. "Well, the tomato jumped off the counter. And guess what happened!"

"He…," Tim frowns a little, begins to finish the preparations for closing up the shop, "died?"

"Yes! Have you read it too?" Jason goes back to the door, is given new life by the sound of Tim's voice, "Man you're so smart, Tim, real smart, not like me, you got all that good education and stuff."

"You're not that bad," he half whispers, offers a nervous, shy twitch of his lips, "you're good with numbers, Jason. And."

They don't continue till they are out in the street. Tim has his coat and scarf on, looks even smaller like this, all bundled up and warm. Jason thinks he's cute. Jason always thinks he's cute.

"And?" he insists when he's walking Tim home, getting further away from his own but this is also the furthest he's ever gotten with him and Jason's partially sure this must be a dream or an illusion.

Tim fidgets for a second, his house has the porch lights on, so Dick must be home. If he sees them walking together, he's going to tease Tim about his crush. He can be oh so relentless about it. Tim knows.

"You make me happy," he says, fills himself with strength to look at Jason as he does, and then embarrassment wins over, makes him say goodbye much too quickly, makes him run the last block to his house.

It doesn't change a thing.

Jason's still standing where Tim left him, huge smile blooming on his face. He laughs after a second, adrenaline and something _more_ making him all bubbly and giddy inside, he can barely contain himself, he takes off his hat, tosses it in the air, catches it, laughs and laughs and-

"You make me happy too!" he screams, unable to stop, is as alive as he can be under the night sky.

It takes him a couple of minutes, turning around, before he too runs to his house, hand clutching his hat. Tim isn't afraid of him, he thinks over and over.

Tim isn't afraid of him!

Tonight is the best day of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> i wonder if jason felt identified with the tomato of the story......


End file.
